


A Day at the Detroit Police Department

by HelloHelloHello



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen, Implied Relationships, Minor Character(s), Minor Violence, One Shot Collection, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life, miscellaneous officers, will add other characters as they come up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-08 03:40:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15234522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloHelloHello/pseuds/HelloHelloHello
Summary: A small collection of stories following the day to day of the officers in the DPD.





	1. The Photograph

**Author's Note:**

> While writing a longer fic I wanted to write about the other ideas that I had.  
> Unbeta'd so please let me know if you see any glaring errors.  
> Enjoy!

 It’s placed not on Captain Fowler’s desk but rather shoved behind a tower of casefiles. Though in easy view of the Captain himself, no one else really needed to know about it. If anything, people would call it an embarrassment to the Detroit Police Force.

That is true. It was for about a week but when things got dark Fowler would shove the files out of the way and soak it in.

He would nod to himself and continue the work he promised to do. Through the grime and muck and dirt this city would throw he wouldn’t let it deter him. He’d march forward because there was always something to look forward to and to appreciate it once it had passed.

* * *

_Before the Picture..._

 His alarm blared bright and flashy and instead of his usual gruff gusto he stayed in bed. His wife beside him let out a quietly confused purr, “What’s wrong?” she mumbled before listing off into a half-awake haze. He brushed a hand through her hair, coaxing her back to sleep.

Fowler never liked to do this to her, bringing his problems back home, keeping them both awake. She did as much if not more than he did. Her advocacy helped open a shelter and repair center for Androids, and by God himself, he matched her every step of the way. He petitioned for equal safety measures in the police force and damn near got a stroke trying to standardize bullet-proof vests for Androids. Well, he did get a minor stroke but that didn’t have anything to do with the vests. It was another long story for another time.

Anyway, as long as he was Captain he would march alongside her. It is what he promised on their wedding day those many years ago and what he lived by now. So, if he could keep her here in this quiet calm for as long as possible who could blame him?

He heaved himself out with a long draw out sigh. Every limb in his body popped as he straightened up and lurched to the bathroom.

Time to start the day.

When he finally got outside the skies were a gloomy grey and pregnant with rain. The wind was beginning to rise just as Fowler’s mood was sinking. It was the start of the day and it was already too long.

The ride to the station was uneventful which was a precursor to what he wouldn’t be having at the office. While in the privacy of the cab he meditated on his breathing. Something his wife, bless her, always said would help set the mood. It never worked but it was a nice thought nonetheless. On the last exhale he walked out of the taxi and marched through the doors to the station. Right as he passed the foyer and through the sliding doors into the pen he was greeted by yelling and the bustling of a swamped office. It didn't pass his notice that Hank _and_ Connor were surreptitiously absent from their desks.

God, they better not be doing stupid shit while his day just started. Fowler’s earlier even breathing hitched at the thought that those two were doing stupid shit. He finally got to his own desk and sank down with a groan. He _almost_ got the files left from last night when the door swooshed open. He held back an unprofessional whimper and glared at the newcomer.

“Good morning, Captain,” Officer Miller said crisply, “I wanted to let you know that the Chicago Times--,” the words never registered as Fowler’s Bull-Shit sensor’s tingled.

At this point Fowler should have resisted the temptation to look. What made him turn was possibly due to a celestial force that had a burning annoyance for him.  It wasn’t even out of the norm to see Hank stumble in followed closely by a sharply dressed Connor. Late. Of course.

But today he kept an eagle’s eyes on them.

Something was going on. He couldn’t put his finger on it. He wasn’t even paying attention to Officer Miller and waved him off. From his periphery Officer Miller shrugged but thankfully left. Now, he could devote his attention to those two.

Usually, Connor would plunk himself down at the corner of Hank’s desk, they would talk. Then he’d go over to his desk and work on the file which never took him more than a couple minutes. Today though. Today Connor didn’t do that. Instead he went past Hank’s desk and into the back. It was out of his vantage, but he knew there were holding rooms for the drunkards and other wayward.

“ _Now, why would Connor go back there?_ ” The Captain mused.

Connor’s function here wasn’t general patrol. He rubbed his chin, hmm, he wasn’t aware of any ongoing investigation. Connor’s reports were always impeccable he’d have informed him if he had brought in a potential suspect.

“Don’t touch me you shit robot!”

Fowler barely stopped from ramming his head into his desk.

Please, no. Not that.

He uncovered his face and looked.

Gavin Reed slumped out like he took the drunk bus and was currently resting at Hangover Cabin. Connor had this thin-lipped smile plastered on his face.  Let it be known, Fowler had been working with this Android for a little over a year. He knew, knew as God as his witness that, that smile was a glaring neon sign for “I’m gonna start shit.”

Fowler glanced at Hank who was busy typing away a sparse, grammar-less report. He saw Hank look from Connor to Reed, back to Connor. Fowler then witnessed Hank physically contemplate, and then--well--look at that; do nothing. Maybe, just maybe, thought Fowler, he didn’t need to intervene.

This was going to resolve itself.

Perfect.

Eyes going dry it refused to blink away from the ticking time bomb that was Gavin and Connor. So far though it seemed almost pleasant. Connor disappeared from view and came back with two steaming cups in hand. Then, this is where Fowler sat up, Connor turned just so that his back was to Hank. Fowler saw him do his unmoving quick sweep. He’d be impressed with how Connor managed to reduce the amount of witnesses with his casual positioning if Fowler wasn’t busy being irritated.

There was one thing Connor forgot. Fowler had a very clear view on those two badgers from his cushy office tower.

He couldn't make out the words but saw Gavin rip the coffee mug out of Connor’s hand. Through Gavin’s own animated gesturing he could make out the gist of the conversation.

Which went something like Gavin insulting Connor.

Connor gestures loosely in Hank’s direction.

Gavin says something that would get him written up.

Connor then...wait. Fowler leaned across his desk and squinted. He was doing something with the cup in his hand. Then he did it again except he scratched his nose.

His face drained as it clicked. He began reciting a short prayer consisting solely of expletives and hoped, hoped Gavin was too hungover to notice.

Alas, the God he was praying to didn’t answer because between one “holy fuck” and the next he saw Gavin splutter. And loud enough that it came muffling through his glass walls yelled, “Are you flipping me off?”

That got Fowler up from his desk and opening his door in time to hear Connor placidly reply, “I’m surprised it took you so long to understand I was _telling_ you to fuck off, Detective Reed.” That emphasis on “detective” had sarcasm dripping all over the floor with plenty of derision to slip on.  

At once Gavin had both hands bunched in Connor’s pressed suit. Through the whole ordeal Connor looked amused as he dislodged Gavin’s hold a quick, twist, and push. Which in turn only made Reed grow scarlet. Hank was watching with some sort of sadistic delight or whatever at the unfolding scene. But this was Fowler’s precinct and he refused to stand for it. The other great officers of Detroit PD now watched ranging from feigned disinterest to money exchanging hands.

“Gavin! Connor!” He bellowed. The commotion froze before bustling into a flurry of faked professionalism. An officer held their tablet upside down, another faced away from him staring at the wall.

"Office! Now!”

They weren’t even entirely in before he jabbed at the privacy screen, letting the glass frost over.

“What was that? Huh,” Reed already had his mouth open but not this time, “Explain to me in small words. None,” he jabbed his finger in the air drawing an aimless angry pattern, “of this.”

Reed slumped back crossing his arms and looked away.

Connor cleared his throat, so Fowler whipped around to glare. He felt a slight petulant satisfaction when he saw Connor jump slightly. _That’s right_ , he thought, _I still got it_.

“It was all a misunderstanding Captain Fowler.”

That got Reed’s attention as he entered the conversation with a blazing blame, “What the fuck? He’s the one that told me to fuck off!”

“I assure you Detective Gavin, you were merely reading too much into the situation. If you’d put this much effort into cataloging evidence, you’d be a better Detective.” It was delivered with such Connor Brand Earnestness™ Fowler would have pulled his money out from the banks and hidden it under the mattress. As it were Gavin Reed was clutching his own metaphorical money to his chest with the ferocity of a stingy aunt.

“You’re just a fucking Roomba with a gun!”

This was getting nowhere as Connor fired back with another thinly veiled insult. And Reed returned with fervor. He’d already had a bad morning; his blood pressure was going to give his doctor high blood pressure at this rate.

“Connor,” he said it serenely, taking care to enunciate every syllable, “Reed.” They both shut-up fast, mouth clicking audibly shut. He hadn’t become Captain by yelling or spitting curses. No, he got here because he knew how to use “ _the voice”_.

“You still haven’t explained your actions.”

Reed had worked long enough to not fall for the obvious lure Fowler had dangled. Connor was not as lucky or experienced in that department. “I am apologize Captain. As I said earlier it was a misunderstanding.”  


“You realize I can see you from my office?” He let the placidity drop and watched Connor flounder before gracefully falling silent.

“Ha!” Reed barked.

“Detective Gavin, why did Connor pull you from the drunk tank?”

Now Reed was red-faced for an entirely different set of circumstances.

“Why are both of you messing up my office this early in the morning. Hmm?” There was a long-extended pause growing awkward by the second. Reed’s leg began to bounce as he got close to breaking.

“Well,” Connor relented, “Lieutenant Anderson spoke about _talking shit,_ ” the emphasis apparent, “to build camaraderie between colleagues.”

Captain Fowler jabbed at the intercom, “Hank! Get your ass in here.”

The shaggy mug of his longtime friend and constant thorn in his professional side appeared, “What’d you want.”

“ _Talking shit_?” He repeated, no segue needed.

Fowler could see the little wheels turning in Hank’s head as his whole chin trembled to keep in laughter. The little giggle that escaped, Hank expertly disguised with a cough. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, “anyway Connor and I got a witness--”

“You are going to make time, Hank.”

The man knew when he’d pushed too far so he raised his hands up. And as a peace offering, “Miller wanted to see how fast---” Fowler didn’t let him finish as he got up from his desk and opened his door.

“Miller! My office now!”

When Miller walked in Fowler saw the very clear _oh shit_ look on his face and without prompting, “Officer Cho and the forensics department had a bet going.”

He buzzed for Cho and made her parade the traitorous friends along. That evolved into a chain of snitches, illegal betting pools, and pointed fingers. His office was too small for this.

“It’s really crowded, Captain,” Officer Cho mumbled waving her arm above the crowd.

Connor, Reed, and Hank had their midsection pressed against the edge of his desk. It clearly wasn’t comfortable by Fowler’s observation of Hank’s deepening scowl. Miller whimpered when an errant elbow nudged into his junk.

“This is against fire code regulations,” Connor piped in as Hank shushed him.

He waited for the shuffling and the hissing to stop before he spoke. “Now, I was going to have a good morning. I was going to come in,” he tapped the files on his desk, “fill out some reports, and keep the great Detroit Police Department running as efficiently as possible. But that’s not happening. Why is that?”

Connor opened his mouth and clicked it shut when Hank shoved him as best he could in the small space.

“You have something to say Lieutenant Anderson?” He asked as he got up from his chair planting his hands firmly on the desk to tower over Hank’s crouched form.

“Jeffery, c’mon it was just a little--”

In hindsight Fowler would be amazed that no one got hurt in the following couple of seconds. The domino started with Miller yelping as another errant elbow or knee knocked harder than usual into his zone. Which caused him to jolt and shove another body back, who then grabbed onto the closest thing to keep from falling: Reed’s jacket.

The man in question let out a strangled grunt as he fell back not before scrambling to reach for whatever hold he could. In one of his flailing he knocked against Fowler’s elbow. Normally it wouldn’t have done much other than be annoying yet this time he was stationed on a pile of loose papers. So logically he lost his hold and began to slip. He Overcorrected. His rolling chair betrayed him as it did what it had in its name.

“Captain!” Connor shouted as he leaned forward. Fowler’s hand wrapped around something soft and silky, “Eurgh!” Connor was decidedly bluer in the face than usual. _Oops_.

 At least Fowler wasn’t falling anymore except Connor was doing his best impression of a fish out of water. Connor weighed less than Fowler; as is the law of gravity Connor began a slow keel over to Fowler’s side. Before Hank could stop the descent, Connor’s hand slid against a button. The office flooded in with extra light as the privacy screen deactivated.

Outside stood the team of reporters from Detroit Times clearly shocked and curious to see the police force jammed wall to wall in his office.

He said the only thing that came to mind while Hank had a death grip on his arm, “Everyone. Smile.”

The Reporter’s team stared.

Fowler’s officers stared back with wide smiles that would make their mother’s proud.

The camera person slowly raised their camera, turned to the Reporter like they were reaffirming something, and then a shrug…

Click.

* * *

 

He held the picture now as he finally settled into his chair at his desk within the confines of his glass tower.

Connor had a wide smile, all teeth and polite joy despite the tie strangling him. Hank’s death grip to keep Fowler from falling seemed almost companionable. Hank’s face though looked constipated as he usually did when he tried anything other than sarcastic or drunk. If Fowler looked closely he could see a hand resting on Connor’s shoulder. Only Reed’s flailing feet were seen as the camera immortalized his fall. Miller smooshed against the glass along with the forensics team, but they were smiling. The other officers were in various stages of disarray or grimacing.

He chuckled as he thought back to that day. With a deep sigh he placed it back on his desk and went to work. Then on a whim he took the picture back up, zoomed in on Hank’s poor excuse of a smile, clipped it, and blew it up deforming it in such a way it looked like Sumo had an illicit love child with Bigfoot. He sent it off to the man’s inbox and snickered as he busied himself. Waiting for the chronically late duo.

Finally. They arrived. The anticipation was going to kill him.

Hank sauntered to his desk as Connor went to grab coffee. Gavin had his mouth sneered into an insult until he caught Fowler’s unamused frown. Gavin turned back to his desk, kicked his feet up and perused some old evidence.

Connor was back at Hank’s desk as Fowler was smiling behind his monitor.

“Chris! Why the fuck are you sending these pictures all the time?” Hank yelled across the precinct.

“It wasn’t me Lieutenant!” Miller shot back indignantly.

Fowler wondered how long he could get away with this as he set to work.

  


 


	2. The Gang Finds a Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gang finds a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, its an IASIP reference. That show is something.
> 
> If there are any errors please lmk!
> 
> Enjoy!

The forecast had nothing but rain, rain, and more rain. I wasn’t even the good cleansing heavy, thundering kind Gavin liked. No, today was piss drizzle all day. He griped under the crinkly and uncomfortable department issued poncho which was a perspiration conduit. It kept out the rain but what was the point if he’d be wet anyways? Chris continued interviewing the homeless garbage despite Gavin’s conundrum. He decided if he was getting soaked anyways might as well let it be only rain. He tore off the plastic monstrosity and kicked it into the already dump of an alley.

“Chris, hurry the fuck up.”

No response came.

Gavin paused, adrenaline racing through him.

“Chris?” He called pulling out his gun as the vagrants scampered away. The alley only grew darker as the musty piss smell burned his nose. “Chris.” He repeated, finger not yet on the trigger but inching there the longer he didn’t have eyes on the idiot. It was hard to stalk quietly down the alley, bits of metal, junk, and needles crunching every step. All around him was the sound of rain clunking down the overhanging stairs and balconies above.

Past the weird protruding portion of the wall he eyed Chris. The knots in his neck unspooled and wrapped tight around white-hot fury, “Holy shit Chris. Your fucking mouth stopped working?” The man looked at him eyes wide, one hand holding a rusty old metal lid of a dumpster open. It evened his temper when he saw the clear shock on Chris’ face which in turn intrigued him. Yeah, he was yelling but Chris was already used to that.  So, whatever was in the can was a lot worse than the verbal shitstorm he was to unleash.

Though it’d make his day a hundred times more interesting if it were a disembodied limb or even a head. The case they were currently running on was bullshit and constant dead-ends. So, he peaked in smirking, “What, you a queasy about a little--” the words fell away as he too gaped at the contents of the dumpster.

Nestled between a Burger King wrapper, lotto tickets, and cartons of cigarettes was a swaddled baby. With literal dusty cheeks and from under a tuft of brown hair it stared at them with big doe eyes. In poor form both officer and hard-boiled detective froze brain crashing to a halt. He didn’t know about Chris, but klaxons were blaring in his head screaming “What the fuck!?”

“Should I—” Chris started, and it was too late as he slapped a hand over Chris’ mouth.

“Shhh”, he tried as the baby’s face scrunched into a raisin.

Then with bated breath they waited.

If they didn’t move it wouldn’t— the little turd let out a banshee-worthy wail. Its wrinkly old man-face growing deformed as the screeching rose in volume. Chris in his shock dropped the lid with a bang. Which muffled the shrieking baby but somehow made it worse as it echoed hauntingly in the metal tin.

“I’m going to call this in.” Chris replied with crisp professionalism that belied his earlier inaction before sprinting out of the alley.

“Get your—” no point as the officer was out of view and shouting range. He studied the haunted garbage can and considered bringing the whole thing with him. Gavin rubbed his face and scratched at his stubble. Why couldn’t it have been an arm? Or even a toe.

“Fuck.”

* * *

 

“Out of the way! Move it!” He yelled bulldozing through the precinct swinging the moaning garbage can. Gavin was aware he was dripping sludge all over the bright white floors but, hey, it was better that than turning a blind eye.

As if on cue Fowler came out of the office already lecturing, “Why are you stealing garbage cans, huh? Investing in a summer home?”

Gavin scoffed, “You don’t pay me enough for that,” and then he remembered, “Oh, yeah, also,” He popped open the lid and the crying renewed with fervor and rage. Throughout the office he heard dropped mugs shattering, pens cracking, and the occasional tablet clunk. Good thing Fowler had put in orders for case cover for those. He would have also liked to cover his ears but if he was suffering then they should too.

He had to drag this can, by himself he had to add, because Chris left him alone; which by the way was fucked up. He left a partner alone with no backup and he was going to shove a stick up Chris’s ass. Wait. Even better he was going to shove this baby down his throat. That decided he canned the wailing and yelled, “Where’s Chris? He forgot something.”

“Forgot what?” Hank asked trudging in just as soaked as Gavin was. Connor wasn’t far behind though more appropriately dressed in rain gear.

In lieu of answering he opened the lid. Once more there was a symphony of breaking dishes. Someone in the back swore and their ire wafted up to him, “I just made coffee!”

Another piped in, “Warn a motherfuck—”

Connor seemed unaffected by the screeching aside from his mood ring running yellow, flickered to red before snapping back to blue. “That’s,” he started and never finished as Hank pushed in and grabbed the baby out from the dump unbothered by the gunk now staining his hands.

“Christ, Reed, what are you doing?” All traces of the usual unfazed Lieutenant replaced by a parental concern that, honestly, weirded Gavin out. This was a side he hadn’t experienced. Almost made him want to apologize. Almost.

“NTS will be here in an hour.” Fowler radioed in instead of walking the couple feet to them. When Gavin turned to ask where he should put the dump he was greeted by frosted glass and a red holo-sign of “Busy” bisecting the windows horizontally.

Fine then. He dragged the garbage to Captain Fowler’s door and left it there.

Anyway, now to the important bit, “Who puts a baby in a dumpster?” He asked as Chris finally made his grand appearance. The baby’s crying was now reduced to a hiccoughing as Hank…well whatever he was doing shut the baby up, so he’d be the last one to complain.

Also— “Chris! The hell you’ve been hiding?” He barked at the officer who studiously ignored him typing away at a tablet.

“You keep doing that you’ll be Captain in no time.” He muttered mulishly taking less offense than usual because Hank was distracting him.

“Thanks.” Chris said walking away, ear to a phone, “Yes, the reports came in—” he walked away from the full-mast middle finger Gavin was giving to his back.

When he came back from the lockers drying his hair Connor and Hank were mired in what looked to be a lover’s spat. It was always rare to see Connor without the robot-mask so this was rife blackmail opportunity. He inched closer phone held loosely in his hands as cover.

“—You already know. Then why? Help me understand.”

Hank snorted, anger hunching his shoulders, yet his arms remained a steady sling for the now sleeping Gerber-Baby. “Pretty obvious. We’ll talk about this later.”

In a surprising move Connor crowded closer, “No. I want to understand now.”

“Move. I won’t ask again.” Even Gavin skipped back though the words weren’t meant for him. He’s only heard that tone a handful of times. The first time he’d heard it Gavin made a shit-timed joke about his son. Gavin stretched his jaw as he felt the ghostly echo of the punch that near broke his face. The thing is Gavin was an asshole, through and through, but he wasn’t suicidal. Connor on the other hand seemed keen on courting death by not moving. Gavin almost stepped in to pull Connor away, shifting slightly. He might not like the plastic-can, but they’re already stretched thin on officers.

Then Connor budged, barely perceptible to anyone watching as Hank pushed past and stalked down the hall to the rooms in the back. Yeah, he was looking for blackmail not evidence for emotionally repressed persons. What a waste of time. His thoughts were on wandering on lunch before being rudely interrupted by a vice like grip on his shoulder.

“The hell?”

“Detective Reed.” Connor said genially, his mouth ticked down once before steadying. For a moment his breathing stopped. It’s like swimming in a calm river but up above the flood waters from heavy rains were careening down towards the happy little swimmers. He was the swimmer. “Where did you find the infant?”

“Hartwell Ave.” He said as he jerked out of Connor’s freakishly tight grip, “Why?” He asked as the mood ring flattened to yellow.

“The case.”

His brain took a moment to sputter something assembling a thought, “That makes no sense.” Work talk he could do, easy, nice, and safe from the metaphorical drowning in the torrential flood of Connor and Hank’s whatever.

“They didn’t realize the infant they took was a Simulator designed for training new Nurses in the Neonatal Ward.”

“Wait, Simulator?” He stressed the last word.

Connor stopped walking his expression tilted into a resemblance of incredulousness, “Yes? Were you not aware of the blue band around its right ankle?”

He stopped, no, he hadn’t, “I was busy,” being irritated at Chris went unsaid.

Connor didn’t grace him with an answer and merely began to stride away, “They’re getting sloppy. Which means we’re getting close.”

“Does Hank know?”

The robot was going to give him whiplash with how quickly he shifted moods. “He’s aware. And I would prefer not to bring personal matters into work.”

Oh, so that’s how he was going to be, “You brought it in. I didn’t do shit.”

“Eavesdropping is considered personal.”

Okay, so he did, still not his fault, “So, what, he got pissed ‘cus you were being “it’s not alive” about it all?”

Though he only had 3 inches on him Connor towered. The light cutting in such a way it cloaked his face in shadows. The only thing visible being the ring of ominous red. Where was that shadow coming from? Then in a snap Connor was back to his normal unassuming state, “It isn’t alive, Detective Reed, there’s no need to treat it as such.”

Gavin admits that he is unqualified for the level of interaction and more or less despises it; he said the first shit that came to mind, “And you are?” Connor studied him, unmoving and expressionless the only thing indicating he was still active was the glorified night-light going yellow. If the walking glow-stick was going to throw a punch he’d be ready, the time in the evidence room was a fluke.

“Huh, excuse me,” said fleetingly Gavin thought he was sneezing. Then before he even thought to ask, Connor was down hall and disappearing around a corner. He slapped his face to make sure he was conscious and not drunk at a bar. Then he looked up, where the hell did that shadow come from?

When NTS finally left with the Simulator they were all gathered around a board. Captain Fowler was poking holes in theories left and right, Chris notating it all down in his weird short hand, and from time to time Gavin would chime in. Connor would inquire or expand a theory while Hank would add his two cents. The other officers milled around waiting for their new orders as the scope of the investigation narrowed. The buzz of the investigation closing in filled the office with new energy.

* * *

Gavin stood outside with a cigarette half smoked in his mouth comparing the amount of effort it would take to go to a bar versus drinking at home. He decided that being hungover wasn’t worth it when he had to be in the office in the morning anyway. He crushed the cigarette under his heel and went to hail a taxi. Behind him the doors to the Precinct swooshed open, he turned on instinct and whipped away. It wasn’t his business. _The day was long enoug_ h, Gavin thought as he entered the taxi. He hoped he didn’t find any more babies and if he did he’d leave it where he found it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Drama.
> 
> Also this was the line that I took out at the end if you're wondering what Gavin saw:
>     
>     
>     Hank still looked like his disheveled self, Connor his complete opposite except for their pinkies twined together.


	3. Vampire Prototype & Chainsaws, Myth or Real?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Chris Miller, the resident Rumor Mill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was all written on the bus ride to and from work. It's crack treated semi-seriously.
> 
> Also un-beta'd so feel free to shoot me a message if there's some egregious errors.

The day started out relatively well, if Chris had anything to say it’d be that it went too well. His toast didn’t come out burnt, he found his watch right near the table by the door, his shoes were lined up neatly and not mixed up. Also, the most condemning thing that should have been a large, blaring warning, was that his roommate—chronically late, incompetent—paid his rent on time. As he stepped out he smiled. Happy that the day was sunny, the smell of spring breezing in over the chill of winter. But if he had known the hell to be unleashed just as he stepped foot into the bullpen an hour later he would have stayed home.

* * *

It all started to ball up when Connor got injured on a simple door to door. The POI (now perpetrator) had answered the door with an axe. From the garbled SOS call through the radio he had pushed Hank out of potential dismemberments way and took the hit instead. But, thank the Lord, Chris crossed himself, that the perp was more freaked out than desperate. Instead of taking another swing the perp had turned tail and ran, dropping the weapon. Well, it was less dropping and more, allegedly, firmly lodged in Connor’s sternum.

Later after things had calmed down, Hank spoke about what transpired. The perp was talking through the door to them. Connor in his strangely hypnotic cadence talked him into opening said door. Then it went all “Here’s Johnny!” except the door was Connor’s chest. And this is where Chris, officers (humans and androids alike), and even Gavin leaned forward. Eyes gleaming and wide, they waited with hands clamped on beer and Thirium bottles.

“And the most fucked up impressive thing. See, Connor’s got an axe lodged in his chest and the perp tries to take another swing ‘cept it won’t budge. You know why?” He slurred slightly.

“Why, Lieutenant?” Someone asked theatrically in the back like they were participating in a darkly humorous show and tell.

Hank mimed holding an axe to his chest as his voice rose in pitch and dead-panned, “That was a mistake.” It was unmistakable in its impersonation of Connor’s cadence but no way in Hell did Connor sound like that. Though Chris was too busy laughing along with half the precinct. Both in complete awe and, he’d admit it, some form of hero-worship. Connor and Hank were becoming sort of police cryptids, tall-tales told to bushy-tailed rookies.

That was later, right now though, every hand was on deck scrambling. An ABP had the whole city on alert, departments from a county over radioing in tips, asking if the DPD needed extra hands. They turned down the offers though, political red-tap a good deterrent for now. Most importantly though: No word had come in about the Connor’s status.

Was he dead? Alive? Terminated? Chris could feel the agitation in the air, the bridling fear causing his coworkers to be short with each other and perps. Then finally. After what felt like hours the comms cracked to life.

“I’m okay,” Chris slumped into the nearest chair, relief so tangible he wanted to take a nap. His sentiment was shared as he saw others holding onto desk edges or leaning against a wall. Connor had a problem of forgetting he was more than a bucket of bolts; which worried more people than Connor probably knew. “The suspect was seen—” Chris absently noted everything down for recording and reference.

He picked up his own comm and dialed in, “What’s your status, Officer?”

There was a long pause and he checked the port to see if he was dialed in correctly, which he was. He clicked in again when he was interrupted, “Some tertiary functions have been damaged as well as my Epidermal shell but otherwise I am fine.”

“How’s the Lieutenant?”

An even longer pause before Connor’s haltingly careful explanation came through, “He’s shocked is all I can say.”

“You mean he’s losing his shit?”

A non-committal hum.

He was going to ask for a more descriptive answer until an officer burst into the pen waving their hand, a holo of the perp floating on the palm. “We have eyes! Officers are en-route, Officer Miller we’ve been tapped.”

“Understood! We got this Connor.” He radioed back, throwing his jacket on and chased after his own partner.

How hard was it to chase a perp who had taken off on foot in a city populated with cameras? With Drones occupying the air as common as pigeons. Theoretically speaking it was easy. Incredibly easy, so easy that he’d be able to do it with his eyes closed. But that wasn’t the case. Whoever this suspect was, it's like they knew each and every camera-less cranny in the city. As soon as Chris and his partner, Blake, had gotten eyes on him he slipped into an alley. Then as soon as they saw him again he’d vanish and before long they couldn’t even pick up traces anymore. Rain had begun to fall in earnest, drowning out the sounds of evening traffic. He radioed in to the Captain asking for updates and eventually told to report back in. Blake looked at him expectantly face falling as Chris shook his head, “Cap’s got nothing.”

He barely had his soaking wet coat taken off before he was dragged into the midst of a growing crowd of officers. They were bombarding him with questions, demands, and unsurprisingly an impressive amount of curse-words. The words weren’t directed at him but nonetheless overwhelming.

“Line up!” Came a deep bellow from beyond the crowd. And like an electric current running through the officers they all stood at attention. Then turned to face where Captain was standing, hands gripping the railing of the stairs to his office. “Why are you all acting like you’ve seen a headless chicken singing?

An officer piped up, “We wanted an update!”

“Totally a chainsaw!”

“A different person interjected, “Was it really a chainsaw? Who survives a chainsaw?”

“A chainsaw? I thought it was a bat?”

“The perp had red eyes, right? It has to be an android.”

“Red eyes mean it’s an Android? Who are you, Sarah Connor?”

“Officers!” Captain yelled again before delving into the scary calm he had perfected to an art, “We still have an active case. Get back to work.”

Chris was hurrying along with the crowd until the Captain called him into his office. He waved Blake off as the Android shot him a look of concern. Just as he entered the “Tower” Captain activated the privacy screen and heaved a sigh as he sat. As long as Chris had common sense, which this Precinct sometimes lacked, he would never say how old the Captain had gotten. It’s like the years piled on when he wasn’t paying attention at being the impenetrable, hard-ass he projected with ease. “How’s the bullet magnets doing?”

_Bullet magnets?_ Chris mouthed until it clicked, “Lieutenant and Connor? Oh, yeah. Hank’s being Hank and Connor has some superficial injuries.”

Captain Fowler shot him an incredulous look, “Superficial? That’s Connor speak for—”

Chris shrugged as he took a seat exhaling, “At least it wasn’t an actual projectile this time.” He shuddered at the memory, the blue blood that had coated the walls. It never bothered him before, Androids being maimed that is, but now—he still felt a well of shame at the thought. He shook off the phantom chills to find Captain watching him.

“What’s the status on the suspect?” He asked allowing Chris the grace to take his mind of unpleasant memories.

“We lost sight of him between Tent City and the Red-Ice Hell hole.”

“Shit.” Chris echoed the sentiment internally. The Captain was in the midst of rubbing a hand over his face before he abruptly dropped it and snapped to look at Chris. It was so sudden that Chris startled, “Was it really an axe?”

Chris snorted, “That’s what he told me, but according to Viv and Alexa? It was a chainsaw. Swear up and down on the cross.”

Fowler smirked, “A chainsaw. Jesus, I should send them back to the academy.” They shared a companionable moment of amusement until he clapped his hands together, “Alright, you know the drill. Report, record, and more reporting.”

“Got it, Captain.”

* * *

The bar was warm and cozy, a little claustrophobic but in a good way. Chris had his back leaned against the far wall, taking up as little space as possible. He was fingering the sticky label off of his half-finished root beer and listening to Hank’s retelling. Chris had noticed through the years that Hank loved to tell stories. And he was good at it to boot, he jumped slightly as the crowded officers roared in laughter again. The doors chimed as more officers wandered in, probably taking a break from rounds, or to catch a glimpse of Hank’s regaling.

“Officer Miller?” A hand touched his shoulder in warning, he still twitched regardless. He turned towards Connor and tapped the bar as a hello to cover his flinch.

 “Connor. Why aren’t you in the Showman’s ring with Hank?” He gestured to the crowd.

A shrug.

“How’s the chest? I heard you recently got chainsawed.”

Connor was in the middle of drinking and he spluttered out through the Thirium, “Chainsaw?” He asked again wiping away the spilled blue liquid from his mouth.

Chris laughed, “Oh yeah, and apparently the Perp was the Terminator’s cousin.” The coughing which Connor had brought under controlled renewed with fervor. He waited for Connor to regain his composure and waited again as he carefully took a sip of his drink. And right as Chris thought he had a good mouthful he asked, “Do you think they’ll believe me if I said the perp was actually a prototype vampire model?” Connor had the grace to not glare as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Chris, though was distracted by an inkling of an idea. Now that he said it out loud the idea didn’t sound too far-fetched. In fact, he was sure he could convince half the precinct. Huh. The bottle in his hand stilled and he eyed Connor who had his eyes narrowed in return.

“$10 says I can convince half the officers in the precinct you fought a vampire.”

Connor had a half smile as he shook his head, “I don’t need money.”

Without missing a beat, stupidly invested in this, “A favor. Anytime, anything,” then he amended quickly, “except if it means bodily harm to me or another person.”

“Would slowly replacing Gavin’s creamer with non-fat count?”

“No,” he nodded emphatically, “he’d kill me,” he snapped his fingers, “like that.” To be fair it wouldn’t be that quick, Chris was positive Gavin would draw it out. That man was serious about his milk with a drop of coffee concoction. His drink offended even the most casual coffee drinkers. One time he made a passing comment about the coffee and for the next week Gavin made sure to make aggressive eye contact while slurping his abomination. After that Chris wisely chose not to engage in any sort of banter that could be construed as “offensive”.

“Deal.” Connor said, face flat said for the slight uptick of one of his brows. Chris didn’t notice it and that was his downfall.

* * *

Chris was banging his head on his desk. How could he have been so blind? Jesus and his Saints he was so dumb. The week had been a blur of espionage and subtle nudging, Chris was the master of the rumor mill. He could convince a rock to give him details about the dirt. He was that good. But no. No. No. No. This was all his own fault, 100%. Of course, there were those stragglers that knew how ridiculous a Vampire Prototype would be. He didn’t target those officers, he went for the softies. The ones who were doubted but loved a good story. Chris was too confident. He was so close. So close. Which turned out was his downfall, he lamented silently to his desk and blank computer screen.

Before the eventual pity party though, that fateful morning he went to find Connor to gloat. But couldn’t find him, almost impossible to pin him down through the week, actually. Made sure to check high and low, reviewed the register and saw the glowing stamp of active flashing. Still, he couldn’t find him until Chris came in for his night shift.

Officers were milling around, most had gone home or out for patrol. Hank and Connor were at their desks, not working by the looks of it. He near skipped over, skidding to a stop as he smelled victory. “So, have you heard?”

Hank crooked a brow at him.

Chris continued, smug, “Rumor. Allegedly says Vampire Prototype is real.”

“Really?” Connor said placidly.

This is when Chris should have backed off, “Yup. Half the precinct. Just like our bet.”

Hank mumbled something about _gambling addiction_.

Connor made an act of looking about and without breaking eye contact with Chris,  “Detective Reed, have you heard the rumor?”

Gavin grunted, “About the shitty Vampire? Fucking bullshit. Leave me alone.” He sunk into his chair, propped his feet on the desk and was snoring in seconds.

Okay. Where was Connor going with this?

Officer Cho also answered a negative with a yawn.

Then a sinking feeling made him turn to count the officers. His own words coming back to haunt him from distant memories, _I can convince half the officers **in** the precinct_. ‘In’ being the key word of demise. Oh no.

He had to nip this in the bud, “That doesn’t count, it’s a technicality.” He said as the last of the six officers in the precinct said no.

“You never specified therefore it’s implied, Officer Mills.”

And then it hit him, everything clicking in to place. The strange absences, misses in the morning, patrols that happened to come up. Being incredibly hard to corner for some inexplicable reasons, emails that had gone unanswered or left on read. At the time frustrating, it made sense now, “You set me up.” He looked to Hank, gaping at the old man’s gleaming grin, “He set me up.”

But Hank was rubbing his hands together, leaned forward and said to Chris’s affronted betrayal, “About that favor.”


	4. Goodbye Kid. Hurry Back (1/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Survival is dependent on the fickleness of a person's loyalty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short part of a short story!  
> Been a little busy with work (and games) so I'll be posting the other 2 later next week!

A two-lane street stood between his measly cover behind an abandoned taxi and the incrementally better shelter of the abandoned storefront. The sun beat down on him regardless of his dilemma. Beads of sweat soaking into the collar of his shirt, his jacket long abandoned. He holstered the Glock 22 he had pried from rigid hands earlier, his mind staunchly reminding him of his dwindling chance of survival. He checked the magazine again and cursed. There was bad, worse, and hope God accepts alcoholics because he didn’t have enough for another shootout.  Obviously, it hadn’t changed since his foray through the supermarket earlier, but he felt a measure of comfort at the motion.

Whether he stayed crouched behind this hull of a taxi or not didn’t change the outcome, it only worsened the longer he hesitated. With a sharp exhale he vaulted the hood of the taxi and bounded across the street. Waiting for the crack and sting of a bullet piercing his back. It never came as he slid under the awning and jumped through the broken storefront window. He unholstered the Glock, stayed crouched and checked the long lanes of empty shelves. He rushed towards the back of the store for the emergency exit. If memory served him right it would lead into an alley. A slight reprieve before he’d be in the open again. The door screeched loudly as the smell of rust permeated the air. He cringed and lingered, waiting for the sound of running.

            Nothing.

This streak of luck was nothing short of a miracle and miracles, in his experience, never happened without some counterweight of fuckery. He led gun first and peaked out from the cover of the door. There was a dumpster near the opening of the alley, the other end a chain-link fence with barbed wire decorating the top. He crouch-ran to the dumpster and laminated his back to it while edging out to look what he had to work with.

“Fuck.” This time it was four-lane highway with no cover in sight. See, a miracle doesn’t happen without consequences. The only saving grace was that a slim pedestrian crossway sandwiching a line for the now defunct transit system bisected it.

It’d be faster to run the four lanes, extremely risky though as buildings that lined the highway would be like hitting a wasp hive and expecting not to get stung. It might not happen, but it will.  He settled on logic with a sigh. Maybe he’d play more _Die Hard_ when he didn’t have as much to lose. The entrance of the pedestrian walkway was—aha! Only a block down from where he was. He took one careful step out and jerked back as the dumpster’s side facing the entry of the alley crumpled in, a hole appearing with a loud ringing snap. The echo of the shot made him cover his ears, the sharpness of it unnatural in the quiet he was trapped in. If Chris were still here he’d have made an inane comment of “Speak of the Devil”. But he wasn’t. Not since—Another loud crack as the cement near his feet exploded in sharp shrapnel. He skipped back farther from the lip of the alley. The shots stopped though now he was aware of the eyes that tracked him, waiting.

Why hadn’t they taken the killing shot? When he had stepped out from the cover of the dumpster he knew his head was a clear tempting target. Instead they had taken a shot to the side of the dumpster. And then once more at his feet.

Was the scope broken? No, their aim was too precise for that.

His radio whined, and he slapped it in surprise. A voice warbled through, “I see you.”


End file.
